Falling Sky
by StarsInTheRain
Summary: In the night, a dream perishes. Eclipse, and memories torment. Dawn, and the truth awakes. Day, and the sky falls. Soi Fon, the warrior finally defeated. Shaolin, the young girl who may just live once more. Post Winter War,eventual KisukexSoifon.
1. Aftermath

_**Falling Sky**_

I've survived for centuries, and stubbornly fought for my pride for even longer.

Death is a strange thing to consider, but I of all people should not fear the prospect.

I work with death. I _am_ death, the assassin, the dark angel who delivers retribution from the shadows.

I cannot die. Neither of us can.

I've battled against hollows and criminals, striven for recognition, mercilessly beaten my fellow trainees and officers to rise up through the ranks.

I've carried out countless deeds and missions of odd bravery, foolishness, constant duty, ruthlessness and hatred, but for almost all the stretched-out seconds of my eternal life, you were the only thing that ever mattered to me.

You were my idol, the person who I worshipped like a goddess, beyond all thoughts and reason.

My aspiration, the warrior whose skills were so elegant and honed, reiatsu so fierce, zanpakutou so magnificent. I once believed that the soutaicho himself couldn't possibly be more powerful than you were.

My commander, who I would have happily died for a thousand times over with a smile on my face and your face in my last thoughts. Now, I stare fixedly upwards, watch the sky ripple restlessly high above, flame-red, brilliant orange and burnished gold flowing and running together like graceful tongues of fire, like watery ink on a floating scroll of heaven.

My sister, the carefree woman who would have confidence and cheer pouring off her like divine light, moving with catlike grace, who would always wear a glimmering cloak of playfulness and amusement. Slanting eyes of sun-bright molten gold brimming over with laughter, who to I could spill all my innermost secrets and insecurities without fear of reprehension or ridicule, for she always somehow managed to find a way to make my stoic nature disappear like ash-filled smoke in the winter wind.

It's unbearably hot, just like that day. Biting warmth swirls languidly, horribly in my aching bones, and with each tortured breath, I gasp, feeling as if I am breathing in water that has lain beneath the afternoon sun.

The first time I met you, I was overwhelmed with awe. I couldn't take my eyes away from your face. High above the paved courtyard of the Fon clan's household; I bowed down to you with the rest of my family, wonderingly drew in the scent of your procession's musky flowers, and I was sure that I had finally met a goddess. You were so beautiful and breathtaking in every single way, from the shining satin curve of perfectly shaped cheekbones to your pointed chin. The deep, iridescent glimmer of your thick violet hair made me think of my own dull black tresses and wistfully sigh. Your huge amber eyes seemed otherworldly, glowing against the sun with hidden mystery. The exquisite, intricate embroidery of your heavy silk kimono made me gasp at the time. I had never seen anything so utterly pointless, but still so stunning.

But you earned my undying devotion when my uncle leant down next to me in the damp, humid air, and quietly informed me, in a reverent whisper, exactly who you were. The princess of the Shihouin noble clan, the future commander of the Secret Mobile Corps, strong, flawless and capable beyond compare. That did it. I adored you, from that moment on, from my fifth birthday, from the day I was truly brought into the clan as a trainee for the _Onmitsukido_ after the rigorous testing, given my new, strong name. Ever since I can remember, I have been drawn towards strength like a moth is seduced into the flame. But that's fitting, isn't it? You did use to call me your little bee. After all, I still hold the memories of our seconds, days, years together in my heart as more precious than anything like the glittering jewels that my loutish, _stupid_ fukutaicho used to wear. I may forget countless executions and bloody assassinations, my lonely and abandoned childhood when all I had was my arduous training and him to live for. I will let the memories of my captaincy fall away like shining pearls on a string. What did it ever mean to me, anyway?

Your recognition.

Your acknowledgement that I was strong, someone who could protect you, somebody who was really there as not only your ever-faithful shadow. But even now, I've only ever stepped into your shoes, only been a vague, impotent reflection of who you used to be. Stuck as a flower's twin in a mirror, the milky white moon drifting in water. Even my talents and fighting ability might as well be yours.

I did, and I suppose I still would, do anything for your praise. To see your grin, and hear you say; _Good job, little bee. _Above the clear, brilliant skies of Seireitei, I would face the Espada all over again, alone with only Suzumebachi and my wits. Take on the traitorous scum Tousen and Ichimaru together, joyfully sting them to particles of reishi with my beautiful shikai that I always thought looked like a glittering hornet. I'd happily relinquish my captaincy of the Second Division and desert my post of _Onmitsukido_ Commander; give them up in a second if it meant you were still here, in Hueco Mundo or anywhere else in life.

Maybe if I stay here for long enough, you will come back to me.

I haven't really changed since I met you. The member of my division would say otherwise. I could have them all standing at attention like shiny toy soldiers on parade with a single reiatsu-laden basilisk glare, effortlessly terrify my lazy seats into tearful hysterics for hours on end, bring my useless Omaeda and that drunken Kyouraku to their knees with no more than a raised eyebrow. I only ever regretted that once, the time Unohana oh-so-sweetly asked me why she had so many gibbering idiots from the Second in her division lately. Over the years, I've hunted down countless traitors, put my life on the line too many times to count, and I can't tell myself anything other than that you can't be gone forever, despite the fact you are right next to me, dull amethyst strands of your hair stirring in the hot breeze that spitefully teases my still limbs. Your death is too much to accept, along with the fact that you cannot be the only one who I'll never see again for the rest of eternity, but thankfully I won't know the number of them.

I won't ever need to know again. When you deserted the Gotei all those years ago, duty took your place for me, became my best friend, sister, family, support and life.

You've left again. Duty seems strangely empty now.

What is duty? Obligation and devoted servitude to your lord, commander, family. It is to take care of your subordinates, no matter the personal sacrifice.

Duty is to spend all night out in the cold rain after battle, obstinately searching for the youngest member of your squad who has gone missing, to look for her until your hands are shivering and flesh so pale you seem to be carved from lifeless marble. It is to rush her failing body to Fourth, then flash back to your squad barracks and dread the task of counting how many of your officers are left, even as you carry it out, feeling a little bit of your soul be sharply torn away.

I believed with all my heart that you always knew what to do, how to feel. And without your presence here to guide me, I have no idea anymore.

Lying sprawled in the mud, shards of white stone and my own whispering memories like a human child's rag doll with so many other corpses, I emptily register the deep, approaching roar of a pack of hollows finally sensing the last speck of flickering reiatsu still stubbornly, and somewhat stupidly holding on. It once would have put me on the alert to leap into a fighting stance. To summon the blinding silver kido for a devastating shunko attack that swept from my back and arms like fountains of icy fireworks, but that's laughable now. The dark blood of you, me and Omaeda is spattered in crimson flowers across the soft peach and cream of my ripped satin haori that I was so proud of years ago, and my hair must be in an even worse state, matted with sweat and dirt. I am covered in mud and gore from head to toe, and I can hardly force my broken body to move an inch, as all the tendons in my legs are destroyed, and both arms snapped like twigs under the hierro-armored feet of that unforgivable betrayer who I refuse to even name. If the Gotei could see their assassination commander now. I laugh mirthlessly, a harsh bark breaking the perfect, glassy silence. Suzumebachi's gold and ebony layers of metal are almost shattered on my crushed right hand, brutally biting into my muscles and flesh, which hurts a little. I won't be able to sting my enemies anymore, will I? Never again. . . . .

I smirk bitterly, tendrils of pain flaring through my torn and bleeding neck as I turn my head, and look into your face lying next to me, burnt and bloodstained, but somehow defiant even now. Just like you always were. Even my resolve has only come from your determination, as hard to wear down as waves crashing against the granite cliff. Your blank stare isn't altogether strong, though. Despair, resigned and final, fleetingly ghosts over the tarnished bronze of your skin. I muse why, only now, I must discover that you weren't perfect after all, and that admission pains me more than all those miserable years stored like stones behind my mask.

The crimson clouds roil, coalescing and growing closer to me in the wounded night sky, amidst shrieking bird-formed adjuchas singing a choir of death and destruction against the bloody light, soaring one by one through the _gargantua_. A thought strikes, shattering me into shocked pieces, and I know, in the end, I am completely alone. The one live shinigami here, a guttering silver candle soon to be sucked into the void, a target for tens of thousands of hollows ready to swoop down any second now.

I have never been anything without you, Yoruichi-sama.

You have made me need you for too long now. There's no going back, no rewriting of history can be done, no matter how much I wish otherwise.

For more than two centuries, you've made me who I am.

Commander.

Taichou.

Soi Fon.

_Shaolin. . . . ._

The first hollows descend, screaming, bloodstained claws outstretched for my gasping, racing heart.


	2. Mourning

An interlude chapter, as the next will not be up for just over two weeks. Soi Fon will not die.

_Even in unconsciousness, I hear, record fluttering scraps of sound, and automatically file words away, my ears too well trained to wind down now. Murmurs rise up, floating, echoing faintly, and then retuning to me, like golden bubbles rising through warm water kissed by autumn. _

_A sharp, feminine voice, smooth as dark honey, spikes with frantic worry. 'Come over here! Her spine is broken, almost every bone is snapped and her heart is failing rapidly. 10__th__ level life support needed! Did you _hear_ me, seventh seat Yamada?! NOW!'_

'_Oh god, speak to me, please, Shunsui, Oh, please, please. Don't leave, not now. . .' The words trail off into terrible, racking sobs, as though the speaker can hardly breathe._

'_Dammit, dammit, dammit! Karakura town wasn't enough for you, assholes? Why didn't I get here in time? WHY?!' Raging reiatsu flames into the sky, an inferno bright, fierce and hotter than the sun's corona._

'_Fukutaicho. . . is she alive? Did Ichimaru. . . . ?'' A whisper creeps with a puff of icy mist, strained, boyish and tired, like he is only just managing to cling on to life._

'_Dispatch a healer unit to find Kuchiki-taicho immediately! Hurry, there may not be much time left! He was stalling Aizen at the summit of Mt Kagura, in the furthest northern district of Rukongai six hours ago!'_

'_Nemu, bring the bio-stasis reishi stabilizer to me and activate all its points. He won't last much longer.' Soft speech, silver and delicate as a ribbon, but firm and unresigned, grows louder. 'Ichigo! Help me, and hold this blockhead down while I administer first aid!!_

'_Should we be saving the masked ones? Is it necessary to heal their wounds, taicho? This girl looks like she's just about had it. . . . '_

'_Yumichika- why didn't you just tell me, you fucking moron? Didn't you trust me?! W-weren't we friends?!' Growling, rough and low, with dark undertones of hidden grief._

'_Put your arm on my shoulder-that's right. We'll be going home now, Yachiru.'_

'_Cease your efforts and just leave me be, woman.' An alien, husky murmur sounds quietly, resignedly._

''_LISTEN TO ME, SHINIGAMI! Finish gathering the wounded. We are leaving in five minutes! There will be time for grieving later. The Gotei must be accounted for, but the Seireitei cannot be left to be fully overrun with hollows! You may come back in three days time to-' The barking, rough baritone of an old man booms, traveling in ever-increasing ripples of sound, painfully resounding in my aching eardrums._

_That is all it takes for the pain to reach its peak._

_I burn, like white-hot fire is consuming my soul, and all at once, my resistance to death crumbles, and is washed away by waves of agony, that I had been able to dull before._

_I let go of the edge I was gripping, and tumble into the abyss._


	3. Penultimate

This chapter may seem a little strange in some parts, but dreams or happenings in inner worlds have also been known to be strange. ^_^

*

Drifting in and out of the waking and slumbering worlds, I am not ready to face reality.

So, in my memory, when the new beginning is unwinding outside, I spin back time, and return to the end of it all.

_The wind blows cruelly upon the fate of the shinigami._

_It is almost as though the gods are angered by our choices._

_Time has ceased to mean anything countless heartbeats ago._

_Survival is the only thing that matters now._

_And, of course, the retrieval of the monkey wrench, which is at the pivot of Aizen's plot._

_The monkey wrench that's worth more than the universe and all of the worlds in it._

_Life._

_Death._

_Or limbo._

_Bloodstained airstreams billow and rip across the battlefield, softly breathing the odor of despair to all who continue to persistently draw breath. I wonder vaguely how many of my division have so far managed to stave off death, but push the thought away sharply. It is a distress for a new time, the next life I will live after the Winter War._

_I may be decades from my first lessons of combat, but they aren't simple facts that one can let soar into one ear and out the other. _

_Which kind of fish is best for dinner? Salmon or cod? How long does it take to piece back the beating, bleeding jigsaw of a broken heart? Does it require the entirety of a human lifetime, or stretch into forever before the pain blunts?_

_Nothing like that._

_The principle of the Onmitsukido isn't really even a rule._

_It requires no emotions, personal feelings._

_It defines you, shapes you, molds you, and is you to your last breath, just as you are it._

_That is what I now hold in my thoughts._

_That, and the protection of Yoruichi-sama. I must get closer to her to help. She appears to be weakening. Was her blast of starry shunko a little less potent? No, I must be seeing things. She could never fall before me._

_Not that I plan on dying anytime soon, but these damn hollows don't seem to have the intellect to understand that. At least that Segunda Espada could hold up his end of a conversation, even if it was endless drivel which only served to prove his god complex._

_The battle still continues, continues like rage made material, the clean white of the enemy dirtied, tarnished and trodden into the earth, and the soft black of my existence torn asunder, hanging in rags. _

_I still fight, fight with speed that is for now quicker to strike than a snake of lightning, ducking, striking and weaving, now in the sky, now sprinting across the black soil, back to back with a lethal, dark-skinned woman whose gleaming violet hair whips round her caramel-colored face like a nest of beautiful snakes._

_The hours all blur into one another as I go on, clashing with countless arrancar, the acrid stink of death lying heavily in my nose and mouth as Suzumebachi's delighted laughs bubble up inside me, the heady joy of battle streaming from within my ruthless zanpakutou. _

_Blood seeps ever more heavily from the stump of my left arm, fire lancing through my dripping veins. I grit my teeth and clear my mind, bearing the pain, mastering it. Beads of sweat roll down my face in rivulets, but I will not, cannot be distracted by physical suffering. Yoruichi-sama needs me._

_And all the time, I steadfastly try to reach the door to Hueco Mundo that gapes open like a mouth full of rotting black teeth, leaking particles of tainted reishi, about a kilometer to the east._

_No others of the Gotei seem to be in sight. I have long since lost count of the number of casualties, barely able to remember the last time I saw another taicho. _

_The main body of the Gotei has split hours before, leaving Kuchiki-taicho in the dark, rugged foothills of Mount Kagura beyond Rukongai's bare northern plain. The taicho of Sixth Company had only just returned from Hueco Mundo, and as he stumbled elegantly through the gargantua, he had been unceremoniously greeted by the grinning, taunting face of Ichimaru Gin. Drained and wounded, Kuchiki-taicho had then been forced to stubbornly keep Aizen's smiling henchman locked inside a colossal, glowing vortex of sakura blossoms which lights had scorched almost as bright as the millenium-old fire that I can see far off on the hazy horizon if I squint. _

_It is the flame of all creation born from the soutaichou's ancient zanpakutou as he clashes with Aizen, a battle of godly titans that makes shinigami and hollow alike shiver in terror._

_More and more hollows pour in from all compass points, howling in a chorus of fear that chills my blood to ice amid the cloying humidity._

_It isn't the arrancar that I fear; it's the sheer, overwhelming numbers._

_One spider can be crushed with a single whim, a million will crush you._

_Even if you possess a sting like mine._

Cries of heartwrenching grief shatter my thoughts, seeming to well up from deep inside, filling the earth and sky with overflowing pain, all sharp edges and grating weight. Shuddering, I sink back into my memory.

I will not listen to his despair.

For if I do, along with my own misery, I may just be crushed.

_I hiss to myself as I register that my normally fluid movements are losing their rhythm. I am starting to dread that I and Yoruichi-sama will be trapped here until our strength finally runs out, when my fearing thoughts are cut short by a savage, shining crimson crescent moon that slices through the air so close to my slender body that I can hear it sing while it reaps the hollows that currently pose a threat with showers of blazing bloodmist._

_The deadly power wavers in scarlet ribbons in the air, sparkles, rolls away from the man who flashes towards us from the top of a rundown hut, an ugly scowl adorning his overwrought, ashen face. _

_I bite my lip; rolling my stormy grey eyes with surprise as I land on my feet somewhat more unbalanced that normal._

_I never thought that man even knew _how_ to be serious. _

_He even seems to have lost that ridiculous hat._

_Urahara comes to a halt a few dozen metres away from me, just in time to firmly wrap his arms around Yoruichi-sama's slender waist as her knees give out, the dense white light of shunko splintering on her bronze-colored back like a thousand shards of cracking ice, a note like a ringing bell breaking. I stand in mindless shock, trembling. How could I have not noticed her discomfort earlier?_

_I have failed in my duty._

_He holds Yoruichi-sama close, supporting her whole weight easily as she almost collapses with grinding exhaustion and blood loss._

_How has Yoruichi-sama taken more wounds than I did myself? It can't be possible!_

_I rush over and demand to know how badly she is injured, but Yoruichi-sama doesn't seem to be in any fit state to answer, and I wouldn't have expected a polite answer from Urahara anyway._

'_Let go, Kisuke. I . . . can still fight.' Yoruichi-sama whispered, her rich voice deathly quiet, riven through with pain. She weakly struggles against his hold, so I glare at him, which he ignores. 'Not . . . enough. . . . time. The soutaicho needs. . . . he needs . . . . . the. .'_

'_Shut up.' Urahara growls. 'Are you able to swallow?'_

'_. . . Yes.' _

_Breathing in short, sharp gusts, he shifts Yoruichi-sama to his left arm, draws a small bottle from his torn, dirtied, forest-green haori, reaches a large hand inside and takes out a pale silver capsule. Tossing the pouch to one side, Urahara kneels down on the ground, cups her face and gently places the pill between her parted lips._

_Coughing slightly, Yoruichi-sama swallows, and I can almost see life and vitality flood her body. I collapse in relief, taking a deep breath, but I know that she isn't fully recovered yet. A tentative smile curls her lips, and she stands up, not quite so smoothly as usual, but she is out of danger!_

_I feel like dancing, but the task is at hand._

'_Yoruichi-sama.' I say in a businesslike, methodical tone. Anything to distract me from the fact that Urahara's eyes are burning holes in the back of my head. 'We should take this opportunity to go with all speed to Las Noches, if of course you feel well enough.'_

'_Do you really have so little faith in me, Little Bee? I'll be fine for a few hours yet.' Yoruichi-sama reassures me. 'Let's go.'_

_Urahara has also risen, and stands like a statue, features so rigid he seems to be chiseled from stone. He meets Yoruichi-sama's even, golden gaze with an intense stare, his grey-blue eyes iced over like a winter sea. _

'_Kisuke...' Yoruichi-sama's voice is smooth and musical, holding a question. 'If I do not come back. . . .'_

_He sighs deeply, face relaxing into such blankness I almost think his soul has left him. _

_She is about to continue, but he simply walks over, and clasps her hand tightly. _

'_No need to say that, for you will return.' A half-smile emerges from Urahara, but I have known my fukutaicho to put up more convincing facades. _

_Feeling like an unwelcome intruder, I scarcely know where to look. Hasn't Urahara learnt that such displays of emotion are completely against the rules, in all his goddamn years as a captain? Doesn't he have any dignity? I seal my lips into a hard line, and see the packs of hollows creeping back towards us._

_I step into the gargantua, letting its feathery, black fingers draw me in, Yoruichi-sama floating just before me. Purpose carves her stance, and refined, thrumming reiatsu exudes into the void. She does not look back._

_Behind me, Urahara bows his head, letting tendrils of his flaxen blond hair mask his expression. With an electric jolt, I understand. He's absolutely terrified. Not for himself. For Yoruichi-sama. He's letting her go to Aizen's stronghold, and it's killing him to watch her go without rushing after. But that idiot Urahara will never show it, because Yoruichi-sama would think that he didn't believe in her capability. And that, for all true warriors, would be a wound worse than death._

_He is afraid he will never see her again._

'_Sing, Benihime.' He says roughly, raising his pulsing crimson zanpakutou to the heavens, and what living things left on the plain are consumed, torn to shreds by raw power so great the air screams, and killing intent reaches me, now far down in the depths of the passage that bridges worlds._

_But only I, the arrancar and the gods witness Urahara's pain._

My recollection ends there, and I remember no more, the fragile web of memory torn to whispering shreds.

Figures dance in and out of my mist-filled dreams, so confused and indistinct that they are mere smoke and mirrors that I cannot be sure even are real.

Yoruichi-sama floats and sways and disappears, healthy to dying, from happiness to despair all in one, firelight playing over her features as she mischievously vanishes away into a shimmering wall of glowing blue water, cradling a white lily.

Urahara follows her, passing me by, just out of reach, as untouchable as a wreath of smoke a thousand emotions blurring, dividing and flaring to life on his face. He looks over his shoulder and desperately shouts something to me, mouth moving rapidly, but I cannot hear him.

I descend into my inner world, and the sky closes over my head with a grind of blue dust and a whisper of silvery light.

Just as a great chasm opens below Urahara's feet, wind howling like a pack of celestial wolves, and he falls, burning, into the darkness.

*

_Fierce rays of bronze light slowly began to dim over the plain as the sun shut closed its fiery lashes. The hundreds of small, bent ebony trees cast indentations of spidery dark over the dry ground, all the way up to the hill that rose up like a forgotten tribute to a pagan god of the heavens. _

_Soi Fon lay slumped on the fountain's edge at the highest point of the hill, thin face buried firmly within her arms. The scallops and curves of the black marble gleamed gently beneath her, laced through with veins of gold. Fireflies gamboled round her in a shining orbit, tiny sunbursts flowering within the gray dusk resting on the hill, a soft blanket of silver twilight._

_Veils of opaque, shivering radiance flowed from the fountain, and ran quietly down the hill, fluctuating restlessly and playing on the body of their mistress._

_To the casual observer, the hard, emotionless leader of Seireitei's Onmitsukido might have appeared to be . . . sobbing. Except, of course, there were no casual onlookers inside the soul of a shinigami warrior._

_Because, for the first time in her afterlife, Soi Fon was solitary in the world of her deepest, innermost heart._

_Solitary once again, with cobwebs shrouding the memories of how many times it had already happened before. _

_But it had also never come to pass, and one could say that Soi Fon herself had never suffered so much._

_She was utterly alone._

_This could be reasoned to mean only one thing, have a single possible explanation. It brazenly broke the boundaries of all that was reasonable in the logical, yet immaterial dimension that was the lone place she knew. _

_It dawned on Soi Fon, with crushing despair, that even though half of her soul was lost, never to be snatched back from the howling nothingness that every shinigami and soul dreaded above all else, somehow she had not managed to die._

_Without a murmur, devouring nothingness began to creep over the shadowy, buttery golden plain._

_A sword appeared from nowhere, and hung over Soi Fon's head, menacing amethyst and violet flames writhing round about the black blade with a chaotic, poisonous hatred. _

_Raven hair wildly tangled round Soi Fon's delicate face, she looked up._

_She attempted to square her slender shoulders and face the wrathful blade, but couldn't quite manage it._

'_I can't bear this any more.'_

_And the sword imploded, fiery, smoldering coals streaming outwards in a great, blazing flower, sending out enormous arches of blinding light in all directions. The world took a breath, and shifted from shadowy gold to an inferno of angry, rippling scarlet. _

_Pure violet to velvety black._

_Ashes to light._

_Phoenix to fire._


	4. Little Bee

This is a short chapter from Soi Fon's far distant memory lane. This little bit of writing is mostly for the purpose of showing that Yoruichi was not the only person Soi Fon ever cared about. I don't want to stud this story with too many flashbacks in the middle of chapters that slow down the action, so I put it here, while she's currently still unconscious. But I believe that will change quite soon. . . .

* * *

'Hachi, Hachi, HACHI!! Guess what?!' A small pixie of a girl burst into his dim study, capering round the room in joy and excitement, her tiny legs going a mile a minute. Short, ebony-black hair bouncing, she danced in a circle, nearly tripping over numerous stacks of precariously stacked files. Clean, vivid rays of light illuminated the minuscule room, beaming from the door. The outside light did not look quite right against the fizzling rainbow sparkles of kido springing rambunctiously from pipe to pipe on the table inside.

The object of her attention smiled affectionately so that his tufty pink moustache turned up, slowly turning away from his desk. 'I'm sure I couldn't, Shaolin-chan. What is it?' Her wide, stormy grey eyes sparkled with light. Frowning faintly to himself, Hachi recognized the dream captured in them, a dream which was finally about to become reality.

Bursting with the news, Shaolin couldn't hold it back any longer, her eyes shining with happiness and purpose, a stark contrast to the dark, somber room, as Hachi thought.

'I will begin my training for the _Onmitsukido_ in only a few months! And when I do, I will serve Shihouin-hime, like all the other Fon! She is so _amazing_, so dignified! The Shihouin have been a powerful clan of Shinigami for hundreds of years. . . .'

As his young friend continued her glowing, long list of the virtues of the Shihouin princess, Hachi felt his heart twist painfully. He touched his chest briefly, hoping that the fiery, delicate nuances of the _kido_ experiment he was conducting was not starting to affect his circulatory system. _She's too young, _he thought helplessly. _Shaolin shouldn't be put through this yet! _He could not bear the thought of the smallest Fon daughter also being cajoled into thinking that the _Onmitsukido_ was the only thing she could ever be or do. The organization was successful, it was true, but that was largely due to its ability to make a perfect transformation into a well-oiled machine, a silent judgment of which the verdict was only ever the death penalty.

Hachi had witnessed their efficiency himself, more times than he liked to admit. The new recruits, forged like swords with passion and steel dedication, would lose their own sense of self within a year. In ten year's time, he would hardly recognize the happy, innocent little girl before him. Being the respected lieutenant of the _Kido_ Corps, Hachi did not enjoy making waves by criticizing the methods of the _Onmitsukido, _or indeed anyone at all, but he had always felt as though their methods were monstrous in more ways than one.

He looked down, and met her gaze seriously, willing her to understand.

'Are you sure this is what you want? To dedicate your life to the Way of the Onmitsukido?'

'. . . . . forever! Huh? Of course, silly Hachi!' She grinned cheekily, tipping her small, round face to one side and sighing at her friend's stupidly _adult_ foolishness. 'What more could I ever wish for but to serve Shihoin-hime?'

'Don't answer a question with a question.' He chided gently, 'Yoruichi-sama may be very wonderful. . . . .'

'Oh she is, she is!'

'But she is not the only part of this organization which we discuss, Shaolin-chan. Do you truly know what a life in the force will entail? What you will have to sacrifice?'

'I don't understand. . .' she whispered, 'Uncle said that there was no better life than to join, right? Don't you want me to be part of the Onmitsukido?'

Hachi wrinkled his forehead, gave a deep sigh, and tried to explain, 'Well, you are very young, and you haven't seen much of this world yet. There are so many possibilities, chances to take.' _What can I say to a child about the inner workings of Seireitei's most secret organization?_

Shaolin seemed to fold inwards on herself, wilting like a dying flower, her petite body managing to grow even smaller inside its oversized yukata of navy blue. Confused hurt and worry snaked into her childlike countenance. 'Are you disappointed in me, Hachi? What did I do wrong?' Some life seemed to go out behind her beautiful eyes.

Furiously rebating himself for his own thoughtlessness, Hachi buffered his words with haste. 'No, no! You've done nothing wrong, Shaolin-chan! I only wish for you to be happy, and I am worried you will not be if you follow the same path as your all your family have done.'

'I haven't let you down?' Shaolin's entire posture emanated hope, need for reassurance, her pure, subtle reiatsu pulsed softly, fluttering like a sparrow's beating heart.

'Only do what your heart tells you and you will never let me down.'

'_I will! _Don't you dare worry about me, Hachi. I'll be just fine._' _Waggling her small finger at him teasingly and tripping lightly to the door over the dusty floorboards, Shaolin seemed to regain some of her former bubbliness. 'I will make my family proud, and. . . 'Her voice grew quiet, taking on the tone of confiding a treasured secret, '. . . .you _too_, Hachi! Keep watching me, and one day, I won't have to call you sensei anymore!'

The low, quiet rumble of Hachi's laughter welled up, complemented by the light silver crescendo of Shaolin's giggles. She bent to the floor and ran her tiny hand over the wood. 'And you might want to actually let the cleaners do their jobs for once! Your office is so gross, Hachi! You should come and have some fun for once, and leave that stupid old kido research project to your captain!' Shaolin scolded, shook her head with mock disgust and exaggeratedly covered her nose and mouth.

Flashing away like a sunbeam, she vanished out of the door, golden dust motes twinkling, spiraling in her wake.

Hachi listened closely, and he could not make out the faintest trace of her footstep's echoes reverberating down the long hallway. _She'll make an accomplished shunpo master in a few years, _he thought fondly, the corners of his eyes crinkling._ No velocity wasted, clean movements, and silent as a cat on her feet! It's a shame Shaolin-chan never showed any special interest in kido-she has quite a talent for reiatsu control and refinement._

_I wish she could stay like she is forever._

_But even in this other life, there is always death and pain to come._

Carefully getting up, Hachi pushed the other door aside and strolled into the light outside his dingy office.

All the world was a wrinkled, golden photograph, and all the heavens an infinite lake of cerulean water.

He sadly gazed into the distance, and saw the crisp orange leaves of autumn whirling past, lovingly cradled inside curls of cool, dry wind.

The leaves fluttered elusively away into the radiant, clear azure sky, miniature pieces of warm autumn, fleeting and bright as escaping dreams.


	5. Intervention

This is a continuation of Soi Fon's last memory of the end of the war, from the moment she and Yoruichi went through the gargantua. To be followed up very soon, but I had to cut it here. *evil grin*

_*_

_I put it out of my mind, and I and Yoruichi-sama fly on as if pursued by roaring lions through the passage to Hueco Mundo atop two sparkling bridges of reiatsu. The black dark streams past us, whispering, stars threaded in our wake. I mourn the loss of power, for I will have to make without shunko once we are there. The way to Seireitei was never this taxing. I've used every iota of reiatsu I can spare for a few feeble bursts of shunpo to make it through the gargantua, as we fall through the black velvet sky. Then we are racing over the crumbled remains of Las Noches that lies like heaps of shattered bone, towards the palace's heart to retrieve the tiny object that has started it all, the reason why we are here. _

_Thankfully, the strange emerald-eyed Cuatro Espada who had seemed to assume command of Las Noches once his master was gone is nowhere to be found as I and my mentor soar up to the white chamber. I'm fairly sure Kurosaki finished him off earlier. At least that boy is good for _something_. I might have been too harsh before._

_I groan in annoyance as I hear the Decima Espada stampeding madly after us like an unstoppable tank, bellowing and crushing piles of white marble into glittering dust with his elephantine feet. Thankfully, it is not long before his hulking shape fades into the distance._

_Counting my blessings, I reach out to the Hogyokyou's holding sphere not long after, taking it away and dropping its cubelike form into Yoruichi-sama's cupped hands. It glows gently with a medley of rainbow colors that dance on the relieved face of Yoruichi-sama as we stand, slumped with exhaustion, within the blank pearly hall of Aizen's kingdom._

_Yoruichi-sama slips the Hougyoku inside her orange jacket._

_Brilliant rainbow beams of light gambol in the heavy, reishi-rich air, throwing huge flashes of illuminated color on the deathly white chamber. Yoruichi-sama and I collect ourselves for a few minutes, drunk on relief, and then flash away from the looming pedestal, settling into a steady pace as we run at a great speed, side by side, almost mirrored reflections of each other._

'_Well, Little Bee.' Yoruichi-sama grins, gloating satisfaction shining from her triumphant face. 'We've done it! There should be enough time left to return to Karakura Town and pass the Hougyoku into Yamamoto's hands!' _

'_Yes, Yoruichi-sama.'_

'_For the last time—' Yoruichi-sama sighs, smiling wryly as her eyes crinkle. 'I'm not your master anymore, Soi Fon!'_

'_Of course, Yoruichi-sama.' She will always be my superior._

_She takes a deep breath, as if trying to clear her airways from lingering remnants of dried blood, and bursts into golden laughter, the sound bubbling like minuscule droplets of happiness. I smile too, the first time that I can remember, and we share a companionable silence, the air whistling round us with the extent of our velocity. Yoruichi-sama and I, together, have rescued Aizen's greatest weapon! And all that remains is to transport it safely back to the soutaicho. _

_We've left the mountainous, bumbling Espada far behind, and such like him could never hope to even track our speed. Leaping over pearly, glowing slabs of sallow marble, I follow her through the void of seemingly endless darkness, speckled with tiny stars of spirit. We pass through never-ending passageways and yawning black doors, but I know there is a way out, as we have already been in here once. That Ichimaru's passage-switching tricks should no longer be activated, and Yoruichi-sama's sense of direction is absolutely perfect. I have complete faith in her. She will get us out. _

_A few surviving arrancar still wander the palace, but none formidable, so I draw Suzumebachi in one smooth gesture and cut them down with minimal force and reiatsu applied to kill. _

_We near the front hall. Trepidation seizes me with all the force of a wrestler, and I feel like there is something wrong, but I do not bring it up._

_Force the door open._

_And just as we are only a few hundred metres from the exit, eating up the distance with flying feet, a light flares bright from the doorway, a light so painfully intense and all-consuming it looks like the sun and moon have descended to the desert in all their glory. Ahead of me, Yoruichi-sama is knocked off her feet even as she tries to resist. My jaw drops in disbelief, until the tidal waves of grinding reiatsu strike me as well like iron anvils, and I too am sent flying, smashing into the wall in a shower of chips of white stone. I feel my shoulder blade break as I try to disperse my weight in a futile effort to reduce the damage. _

_Squinting, I desperately try to see what possibly could have intervened in our escape, forcibly assembling my shocked mind. The Cuatro Espada? No, Kurosaki killed him long ago! Ichimaru? Of course not, Kuchiki-taicho wouldn't fail, and Ichimaru's reiatsu is nothing like this! The Tenth Espada? No, that bumbling excuse for an arrancar could never have caught up with us so fast. A new enemy? Highly unlikely. They wouldn't have gone unnoticed by the Gotei for days on end._

_First duty-assess the enemy._

_Second duty-ascertain your ally's whereabouts._

_Is Yoruichi-sama all right? I force myself to rise and walk horribly slowly towards her, but the layers of reiatsu are so crippling, I can barely move, legs shaking uncontrollably. WHO could possibly have this kind of strength?! The massive, surging pressure pulses rapidly with icy rage, its deadly tendrils start to retreat from my shaking limbs, and the light begins to dim. Good-now I can almost see._

_But I can also sense._

_And I know that spiritual presence all too well, however much it may have changed._

_My mind comes to a stop._

_I freeze, because my eyes must have finally failed me. Must have._

'_Really, Yoruichi. I never thought you were one to unceremoniously break into innocent people's residences. What should I do with you, my naughty little cat burglar?'_

_The voice is deceptively warm, smooth and gentle, fondly admonishing while still sounding wise._

_Oh gods oh gods oh gods it can't be true not now please not now_


	6. Sinking

The flashback ends abruptly because I wanted it to! The last details of the battle probably won't be known till near the end of this fic. (I couldn't reveal all the surprises yet, now could I?) I do not own Bleach.

*

_Aizen holds Yoruichi-sama by the throat, the pale cloth sheathing his powerful frame billowing with the force of his power._

_A lazy smile curls his mouth. He seems to be cloaked in rippling, shifting white fire that streams into the voided sky, further burning into my brain his absolute, inevitable dominion. Why the fuck isn't he back in the fake Karakura Town? I scream silently in terror. Could it be an illusion? No way to know, dammit!_

_My thoughts bubble like boiling water, and my head is filled with hot, red fog. What can I do against Aizen?_

_I clamp my fear down fiercely, but his dark brown eyes narrow as they fix upon mine, a sea of killing intent cloaked behind the deception, and I know that all is lost. I can't beat him, not in my current wounded, exhausted and short one arm state, and Yoruichi-sama!_

_Yoruichi-sama coughs, gasping for breath, fragments of words bubbling up from her torn, bloody throat. She grits her teeth and brings her browned hands up to his, trying to break his grip, but her fingers might as well be caressing feathers for all the effects they are having against his iron hold. Aizen floats nonchantly down to the broken white floor from the centre of the towering doorway, robe wavering, and sighs sadly as he surveys the damage. 'Poor Ulquiorra. I knew he could not look after my home sufficiently, but this blatant destroyance of my palace cannot go unpunished! Soi Fon-I believe you and your master have something that _belongs to me?_'_

_I drop to the ground once again in dread, forced to my knees with the power of Aizen's gaze, the small, hard cube that Yoruichi-sama has far too obvious against her stained tunic as she goes limp, inviting more fear to burst into life within me. Think! Damn you, think! I shout at myself. There has to be a way out of this. What is it?! _

_Retrieve the Hougyoku and get it back to the town._

_But I must save Yoruichi-sama. _

_I'm sorry, Omaeda, for breaking my own rule. Savor this apology, because you sure as hell will not ever get one from me again._

_But it appears to be that I wasn't as perfect a taicho as you always believed to the last._

_Or a leader._

_She collapses to the floor in a heap as Aizen strikes her head hard and releases his grip, brushing off his hands as though he has touched something disgusting. That bastard. I bully my turncoat body into rising, calling on invisible reserves of energy, and dash forward just in time to snatch Yoruichi-sama away from his reaching range. _

_Then I despairingly realise that he's let me take her, playing with us the way a cat tortures a mouse, sets it free, then capturing it and repeating the cycle before finally killing the wretched creature. _

_Clutching Yoruichi-sama's unconscious body close, supporting her head and back, I am about to make a frantic attempt to get away, reaching the threshold of Las Noches, when Aizen is suddenly behind me, glowing faintly against the endless night outside, as though he had always been there. 'Let's just take care of this ugly affair now, Soi Fon. I'm quite tired, and it would be better for all if you simply let me do this.' _

_Kyouka Suigetsu is naked in his hand, thrumming with a malevolent, roiling power so great and crushing it is almost stealing what crumpled life remains in me. I summon every iota of defiance still present, and address him. _

'_Aizen, your forces have lost in Karakura Town.' I meet his terrifying eyes bravely. 'All the Espada there have been slaughtered by the Gotei, and Tousen has been cut down by his former fukutaicho. Ichimaru is also dead, so you have no followers left.' I glare at Aizen angrily, moving Yoruichi-sama behind me. She stirs. Good. I compose myself. At least I should be able to buy enough time for her to escape._

_The forehead of his impeccable, noble face creasing, Aizen shakes his head, barely concealed menace dripping from his body like venom. 'Oh, sad little Soi Fon. I almost pity you, you with your pathetic devotion and blind loyalty.' He slashes his zanpakutou in an impossibly fast motion, and opens a deep gash in my remaining arm. I moan softly in pain and fury. What damn right does he have to presume anything about me? 'I do not need followers to accomplish my objective. You might say that none of the Espada were more than trifling weaklings, unworthy of following me to the top. I am so sorry to destroy your hopes, but my dear Gin is very much alive. Young Byakuya's heart is likely to be beating its last at this present moment.' _

_He holds my other shoulder in a soft grip which I know is a ruse. He could separate my head from my body right now, I think, raging at my helplessness as he strokes long fingers over the muscles of my back._

'_You haven't won yet, Aizen.' But now I'm just lying to myself as well as him. How pathetic. And he knows it. _

_He smiles again, indulgently._

_I feel my last thread of control snap._

_And a scream of rage tears from my throat as I lunge for his exposed chest with strength I never knew I possessed._

_Effortlessly, he plants his clenched fist in my solar plexus so I half-collapse, my vision whiting out in pain, Suzumebachi falling from my limp hand, its golden glow going out.. Kyouka Suigetsu arcs up swiftly and kisses my neck with its evil blade, cold and unforgiving. 'Don't make this difficult.' He says, voice smooth and deep as ever, but with a\hint of discomfort weaving its way through, and the air ripples with death. I glance over my shoulder, as best I can into the deep folds of the darkness, and Yoruichi-sama is gone! She must have escaped into the desert, back to the gargantua! _

_I smirk widely at Aizen, and stoically await my impending death on the threshold, like a true warrior. I take a breath, and close my eyes, but immediately open them again as ribbons of violet and silver reiatsu bloom._

'_Heaven's net is wide, Assarishita Kaze.' Yoruichi-sama hisses, voice a clear contralto._

_A rapidly growing shadow looms over Aizen's head, and his eyes widen as Yoruichi-sama stabs her own released zanpakutou deeply into his back with both hands, the blade a opaque, sparkling amethyst as it sprouts joyously from his bloody chest. Brow furrowed faintly, Aizen kicks me hard in the chest with the force of a battering ram, and I fly into the white sands of Hueco Mundo, ripples of white sand soaring in clouds before my eyes. We still might have a chance, I think, and that gifts me with fresh resolve._

_Now, if reinforcements would just hurry the hell up! Where did Kurotsuchi-taicho go after he opened the gargantua for Kurosaki? I swear, if that mad scientist wandered off in search of new specimens, I'll make him examine his own damn entrails!_

_Then, with dawning horror, I find out that I have been partially paralyzed. Stifling heaviness weighs me down, slowly but surely increasing, my bones turning to stone. Yoruichi-sama pulls her sword out of the still form of Aizen, rushes outside to slip her arms round my waist, half supporting me, half pulling me with her, and flashes away over the bone white dunes, leaving the palace. But her speed cannot even be compared to what it was._

_We have failed. _

_Blood drips from the deep gash in Yoruichi-sama's neck, framed by dark bruises. _Oh no._ She never recovered completely from before. Why didn't I insist she wait? Why?_

_And as I knew would happen, in only a few seconds, Aizen is alongside us, tearing Yoruichi-sama away from me, roughly ripping her sunset jacket in his search, and finally cupping the sparkling Hougyoku in his left hand. Without a word, I rage, falling, a helpless onlooker as he throws her to one side, grains of white sand scattering with a murmur of sorrow. _

_With a sigh, Aizen stows the small, glimmering cube inside his black and white robes, blowing in the wind like sails. His chest is whole and unmarked. _

_Despair sinks into me._

_I can do nothing._

_Nothing._

_It's all over._

_Then another presence coalesces in the desert, approaching quickly, and I am torn between hopelessness and tentative joy as the prospect of possible help and the possibility of another enemy combat each other._

_Wait . . . . ._

_A tattered, forest-green haori flutters against the midnight sky in a blur._

_A flash of shunpo, so rapid the air currents distort faintly._

_Reiatsu more powerful than a force of nature, tempered, sharp, and smoldering like a volcano before the eruption._

'_I apologize, Yoruichi.' He says. 'I shouldn't have come.' _

_Urahara Kisuke stands tall behind Aizen._

_Fury radiates off him like burning heat, and I shiver uncontrollably. Despite his dirty and unkempt appearance, his pale skin is perfect and largely uninjured, save a few cuts and bruises. Typical of him to manage to stay like that, despite the days the battle has been going on for. Granted, he and Yoruichi-sama did not join the fighting for some time, not until after all the Espada save one were dead, and the Gotei were perilously close to defeat. In his hand sings his elegant ruby zanpakutou, shikai beautiful and resonant, weaving a deadly spell of bloodmist in a wreath of shimmering thorns encircling Aizen's neck. Benihime's pressure is slight against his armored skin from Urahara's arm._

_I gape in shock. _

_I should be murderously angry that I owe my life to that man yet again, but . . . . ._

'_Urahara.' Aizen nods, acknowledging the former taicho's appearance. 'What brings you here? Do you think to save them?' He looks almost bored, the red light round his neck flickering on his countenance. Would that bastard be affected if his own head was ripped off, I wonder?!_

_Urahara laughs deeply, pure rage smoking from his voice. 'My, my! I can't imagine contemplating such a thing!' His eyes fall into cold shadow. 'Because, first and foremost, I'm here to kill you, Aizen. If I were to list all my motives we would be here the rest of the century.'_

*

The first thing that strikes my eyes is whiteness.

Empty, luminous nothing.

I wonder if I have died after all.

At least until twin violet orbs swim into my scope of vision, and blink.

'Fon-taicho? Can you hear me?' The voice is gentle, rich and calming.

But my first breath is gasped on a soft, white rectangle, and the spiritual presences of a thousand rush into my mind like a babbling stream, their noise an aching, unwanted headache.

I feel peace all around me, vibrating like a great heart, softly throbbing with the reiatsu of the woman beside me. It streams round me, as if I am a stone in a river. The hospital of Fourth has always been as such, as though Unohana's spirit lied embedded into the buildings.

'Unohana-taicho,' I flinch. Is that tiny, cracked whisper really my voice? But there are more pressing matters to attend to. 'Y-Yoruichi-sama. How is Yoruichi-sama?'

Do I enjoy torturing myself, asking? Or am I wrong, and was that unbearable nightmare never real?

With an enormous effort, I clutch the stump of my left arm and heave myself upright, dull jabs of pain exploding into life all over my skin.

I fight, but the barbed strings of agony refuse to relent, pulsing through my body as if to the beat of some horrible, depraved drum. Then soothing reiatsu washes the pain away, numbing the hurt with the cool jaden essence of the oceans. I suck in huge gulps of air, feeling as though warm water swirls rounds me in a tender, healing embrace.

But the answer to my question knocks on the door of my mind with increasing insistence.

I am in a narrow bed within a small area, made private by way of thin wooden dividers. The quiet groans of other shinigami permeate the air with subtle whiffs of misery, gradually casting reality back to me. The taicho of Fourth division stands by the door like a willow tree, swaying with exhaustion, indecisiveness lying in every bit of her body.

She is probably trying to decide what to tell me.

Unohana's head bows, long dark lashes brushing her cheeks, sadness carved on her ageless face as she leaves, black braid swishing behind her like a silken ribbon. 'Yoruichi-san was long dead by the time the reinforcements and the Fourth Division arrived on the northern plain. We don't know who killed her. I'm sorry, Fon-taicho.'

With that simple, short sentence, hitting me more cruelly than a hundred swords, Unohana shatters my life.

'I will be back to check on you soon.'

I seem to be shaking, moans of denial spilling from my mouth in scraps of grief, tears pooling and burning within my tightly shut eyelids. Breathing deeply, I attempt to blank my roiling mind, but the truth smashes all my defenses in an instant.

I knew it.

Really, I did.

But to have it spoken aloud makes it real.

_Oh, Yoruichi-sama. . . . . . . . _

Alone, I curl into a ball, and close up from the lying, tormenting world.

Waves of pain tenderize me like knives, slicing through my heart mercilessly.

The centre of my existence-gone.

Just like that.

Why couldn't I have died as well?

_Why? Why? Why?_


	7. Refuge

As of this chapter, this story is officially dedicated to MatsuMama, the unbelievably amazing author who without I wouldn't have gotten so far in Falling Sky. There are no words to describe how mindstoppingly beautiful and wonderful her writing is, and she's been an enormous amount of help to me, and an equally great person! (Go read her work, everyone! But read mine first, lol!)

*******

**Refuge**

I have heard that grief weighs people down.

That one theory, however ridiculously unbelievable as it might have once appeared to me, is actually _true_.

The whole world seems to be drooping listlessly around me, as if gravity has suddenly increased its eternal pull by a thousand times. What brave flowers that have dared to show their pastel faces are bending under the wind much more than they should. I smile wryly and mentally commend them for their fortitude. It's more than I possess. Far below, the streets of Seireitei are not bustling like they once did, rather streaming in a great frothing rush of sadness, depression and frantic shinigami. The hideously ironic side of war is that once it is over, the mourning begins. Even the dark, softly gleaming network of paths and alleyways seem to drop even lower, slipping down as I continue to gaze into the never-ending expanse of gloomy town and murky sky.

All in my imagination, of course. My infernal fancies that really have no place whatsoever in the scattered puzzle that is my mind.

However, that may be a little hypocritical, considering I first climbed up to the rook of my division to get away from it all, the crippling heaviness that is currently leaking from everyone's voices, lies in their footprints, and rests clasped around their hearts. The weight that is sorrow, something that won't fade as quickly as a broken limb. Unohana said that I should delay returning to my division and let my body continue to heal, but that wasn't exactly practical, taking into consideration that according to her I would not recover fully for possibly more than a year.

Some commander I am. How ludicrous. A commander that can't move faster than the lowliest fukutaicho, her muscles are so weak! I may as well be a snail. My arm won't be helping things either, or rather my non-arm. Lifting my aching stump up to be illuminated by veils of tarnished twilight, I growl softly to myself and carefully navigate the red roof tiles to move to a more comfortable patch of stone, higher up on the roof of the main administrative building, hulking like a sleeping beast in the cloudy dark. How could I have lost my arm to that arrogant trash of a Segunda?

Lost it? What am I complaining about? If I hadn't had Omaeda to act as a decoy, I would have almost certainly been utterly skeletonized, now nothing but moon-pale white bones!

You'd be shaking your head at me by now, wouldn't you? Rolling those enormous golden eyes of yours in disgust and pointedly pretending not to listen until I started talking sense.

Omaeda.

Naturally, he _would_ try and play the hero later, puffed up with pride that the first truly powerful enemy was dead. I can still see the shock and disbelief in his own vulnerability burst out on his plump face as he died, and I can feel my own crippling shock pierce my head like a hundred needles.

I should have told him to flee to safety sooner.

I should have come up with a better strategy, one that contained that Espada with an inescapable trap, better than Jakuho Raikoben combined with Hachigen's barrier. The kido's structure wasn't strong enough to hold him firm to be struck by the full mass of my bankai, and the impact point was nowhere near as secure as it should have been, except there was no time! I couldn't have done more.

Forcibly massaging my aching forehead, I attempt to placate my clamouring conscience, which is currently bombarding accusation at me like a rain of heavy stones.

I know I should have . . . . . oh, I _don't_ know!

I can almost feel the clouds descending from the heavens to press upon my back, and begin to shiver, a shaking which I know isn't the bite of the incoming night air, so I draw my black-swathed knees close and rest my pointed chin on the deep folds of my hakama in a gesture of misery, wind wafting past like cold, smooth waves of silk.

He wasn't my ally.

That hopeless fool was my subordinate.

Why didn't I save him? It was my responsibility, my duty. Maybe not as heartfelt as my single-minded devotion towards you, but it still meant something.

I failed miserably on both accounts, and the thought fills my mind like a herald of death.

Without that lout, I would be dead. I owed him a debt that I never repaid, and now never can. He was an insufferable, pompous idiot, but he _was my fukutaicho_.

But in the face of your loss, nothing else seems quite so important. Nothing shattered me the way that did. It's not that you aren't with me anymore. It's that you aren't _anywhere_ anymore. There's no heaven after the afterlife, yet who would deserve to reside in such a place more than you?

I am fully aware that I'm selfish, now.

Life went on before, when members of the Onmitsukido died under my command. Time continued to tick when you betrayed your post and fled to Earth. Now, as I limp into the yawning black jaws of my empty, cold office and begin to rifle through long lists of terrible casualties, finally overturning my desk in fury with a clatter, musical smash and whisper, I shed no tears for the warriors of my division.

I cannot even recall the last time I cried, but I do remember the last time I smiled, alien as it sounds. At a time like this, when you're dead, and I am such a monster as to be unable to even remember how you died.

The event that seems to have finally caused time to halt for good, no matter how I beg it to keep going, with mental tears and entreaties, something that I wouldn't even have thought of once.

Imagining a cool, calm blue lake, I centre my mind and sink to my knees, surrounded by softly sparkling debris of broken glass and strewn paper, the moon's outline timidly coalescing amid a wreath of ashy clouds out the window. For what must be the hundredth time, I try to plot a route through the fragile silver threads of memory that lead back to four moonrises ago, only to push too hard, and cause them to disappear.

If I was the girl countless years ago, before I knew what death was, I would look into my own, present eyes the colour of gunmetal, and see nothing that I then dreamed to be, and nothing that I would have then recognised as myself.

I used to blame you for that, although I never admitted it.

I'd rage, silently smoulder over the Woman Who Abandoned Her Post and left me to pick up the dead pieces of her departure.

I'd sometimes coldly, disdainfully muse over She That Threw Away The Vows She Took And Without A Thought Irresponsibly Discarded the Duty She Carried like it meant nothing at all to her.

But I'd never, never think about the Woman Who Left The People Who Loved Her, because it was far too painful.

But despite that, I wouldn't claim to be wiser now.

I stand in a rapid motion, and run slower than normal out the door with a flash of black, entering the world of the night. The murmuring sway of the long grass is constant below my feet, and the towering pines loom high above, breathing their crisp scent to reach me. Stars bloom in crystalline white glory, and I let their presence help to calm my mind.

Later, after we fought during the ryoka invasion, I realised what a self-centred little fool I'd been, who'd inadvertently caused so many to suffer. I'd treated my division and a few shinigami from others like scum, all because I was angry over not being able to escape my own unhappiness.

No matter what, I couldn't stop the blame, and told myself it was all your fault for betraying my trust.

Then I realised how ridiculous that was.

After all, you can't run away from yourself.

Despite that, now at least my head is a little clearer.

You are gone.

Aizen may not be.

I cannot remember the end of the War that ties to the time of your death.

There is one other who would know.

And for both our sakes, I know what I must do.

*******


	8. Bolt from the Blue

Wow, it has been a long time. What can I say? Exams, work, urgent business, life in general, and a slight disappointment in Bleach's current direction. But Kisuke Urahara is still the same man, and Soi Fon is still the same stubborn little woman. And I still love them together! ^_^

**Bolt from the Blue**

I've always despised human clichés and sayings.

Ridiculous, most of them. Simply excuses for botching a job, something to fall back on when there is no other way to explain a bad situation.

So, of _course_ I am now finding myself falling victim to one of the largest clichés in existence.

I don't seem to have the strength to work up the proper amount of indignation, however. Despite tentative coaxing, careful testing, my body is blatantly refusing to heal at its normal pace. My muscles are complaining horribly, to the extent when I _still _cannot use shunpo, and am forced to plod along the corridors of First like a lowly foot soldier.

Any moment, I am certain that I will see your shadow just in front of me, your dark, smooth silhouette striding purposefully down the hallway, a leader for all the Onmitsukido as I padded after you. Despite it being more than a century later, I still see your profile in the corner of my eye; think I hear your carefree laughter echo off the glowing outside walls at the time of the setting sun.

Déjà vu is not, I have discovered, something that can be ignored.

There, once more. What was that on the borders of my vision, if not your small black cat form?

And there I go again, trying to convince myself that you somehow survived, that your death was an unconscious vision induced by pain.

I have accepted the fact that you are dead, but the all-too-familiar corridors where I dashed down with you so many years ago are stuffed full of painful memories, and every one is leaping out with a vengeance.

Murky shafts of light filter through a window, and I seem to be imagining every shadow to be you from some flicker of the past.

How incredibly pathetic.

What a hypocrite I appear to have morphed into.

But nor do I possess the power to care.

Unohana-taicho's words are a constant, agonizing mantra inside my skull, clamoring louder and more insistently as I slam up mental walls to shield me from the pain.

It has no effect.

Nothing works.

You're dead.

Gone.

I have not, _will not_ keep deluding myself otherwise.

Think about something else, dammit!

Remember the resolve that I promised myself I would keep!

If it wasn't the first taicho's meeting since the end of the Winter War, I would have fled to the farthest corner of Rukongai by now, until it was over.

Unfortunately much of the Onmitsukido were slaughtered, and the Second fared little better. I should not have expected much from my squad. They had almost no experience with battling arrancar.

My entire fault.

I will have to get started on the skyscraping amounts of paperwork as soon as the meeting ends. Daunting, but numbing, and that is what I crave.

Pitifully limping, I quietly cross the threshold of the hall and take my place in line.

(divider)

The soutaichou's voice rolls over me, a granite wave of liquid stone. The hall seems to echo even more than usual, huge and cavernous, as if I stand in the belly of a whale. I shiver slightly in my place, tensing. Slowly, it dawns on me that the room is not so curiously empty.

The Gotei, a year ago, was an omnipotent force of thirteen, our power complete and perfect.

Then Aizen, Tousen, and Ichimaru defected.

A large part of the Gotei's strength was severed.

Down to ten.

The War began.

At the beginning, despite some small injuries, all the taichous survived. And then, soon after the three traitors were freed from the soutaichou's inferno, the worst casualties began.

Hitsugaya-taichou currently lies in Fourth, awake but weak, his condition plodding along for the better, Matsumoto and Hinamori-fukutaichous flocking round him like distressed birds.

The heavens appear to be against me. Kurotsuchi slithered away, escaped almost unscathed, and stands here with absolutely no shame. If anyone deserved to meet their end at an arrancar's hands, it was that scum. I knead the twinging stump of my arm, trying to ease the ache.

Despite his many wounds from Tousen, Komamura came through, and looms just as always in the twin lines of taichous, massive head turned away from the light. Gaping spots in our ranks speak for themselves, shouting silences that we cannot help but hear. We all know who will never attend a meeting here again.

I hear that Zaraki finally managed to discover the name of his zanpakutou by some foreordained miracle and through pure pigheadedness during a bloody, dragging battle with the Decima Espada, after Kuchiki-taichou had left him there. Life is so easy for the stupid. I will not lower myself to envying _Zaraki_, of all damn people. But the terror on his face when he knocked down practically a whole wall in Fourth to find out Kusajishi's condition, contradicted every single previous bit of disgust I used to hold for him. That little pink, infuriating, rosy imp has come across as possibly his only weakness.

That noble taichou himself, Kuchiki, was nothing more than a way to stall Aizen's forces, a method to gain the Gotei more time. He knew it too, from the moment he volunteered to stay behind. I think over the fact that after a prolonged duel with Ichimaru, Kuchiki-taicho fell before Ichimaru's bankai.

Wait-what? That last part hadn't been mentioned!

No matter. At a time like this, an issue like that is not of significant importance.

I was not precisely aware of my surroundings soon after Unohana's visit to my room in Fourth, but I will never forget the moment when the Eighth Relief Squad brought back the news of Kuchiki Byakuya's death. I did not know his adopted sister, Kuchiki Rukia, but I suppose I could empathise with her a little.

Her screams, her shattered tears that hit the floor, on finding out the news of her brother's death are emblazoned onto my memory forever, as she collapsed to the floor just outside my room.

Besides, I cannot claim to have perfect control over my emotions any longer. Everything reminds me of you, and then the misery fastens its cold fingers around my heart once again.

I wrench my thoughts away from you for what feels like the ten thousandth time.

Unohana. She came too late to save Kuchiki-taicho, detained in the gargantua, but the master healer drew Minazuki to kill for the first time in history that I know of. From what I have just heard, what was left of Ichimaru, once she had finished with him, was hardly recognizable as human. If Unohana is petrifying in the hospital, she inspires mind-numbing terror on the battlefield.

At that thought, I come close to cracking something like a smile.

Imagine what would happen if all medics were like her.

If so, and if it wasn't for their interfering 'Do no harm.' philosophy, I would have long ago tried to recruit them all into Second.

It's interesting how much knowledge of the killing arts medics need to know to be successful healers.

Although, no-one would ever guess at Unohana's power now, considering one of her closest friends is comatose, and unlikely ever to awaken. I suppose it's a kind of bitter irony that despite his disease, Ukitake is mobile and well on the road to recovery from his injuries, and Kyouraku slips closer to the gates of the netherworld every day, little more than a living doll that can do nothing but breathe. Ukitake is not present at this meeting. I didn't previously think that it was an option to reject the summons, but rumor has it that he has not left Kyouraku's bedside for an instant, and blatantly refuses to break his vigil, even to sleep.

Even the soutaichou didn't seem to know how to deal with Ukitake, so in the end he just left him there. Strange to think that even—

'_Fon-taichou?'_ A deep rumble inquires.

I start like a frightened bird.

'Did you not hear me, girl?'

'Oh! I apologise, soutaichou.' I cringe, hearing myself. My words skitter nervously in all directions, falling over one another with confusion. 'W-what was your question?'

Twitching a bushy grey eyebrow, he lets it pass with a flicker of irritation. 'Inform us of the present state of your squad.'

I hurry to obey, mentally picking and choosing the relevant information, sifting through reports and lists of casualties. Spilling the words out in a rushing torrent, I hope desperately my voice can be understood.

The terrible, grinding fire of his reiatsu fades back into the deceptive old man as he nods slowly, and the other remaining taichous settle down.

I relax.

'I believe you were the last one to come into contact with the fugitives Urahara Kisuke and Shihouin Yoruichi before the medical relief teams arrived, Fon-taichou. Inform me of the circumstances and how the fight concluded.'

'I can tell you nothing.' I say quietly, knowing I have dug my own grave.

'_Pardon? _Perhaps you would like to answer that again! Think very carefully over your response._'_

Dug the grave, climbed into it, and buried myself. I futilely try to throw off his overwhelming spiritual force, and protest.

'It is not as you think, soutaichou! I remember nothing from the point that Yoruichi-sama-'I feel something break inside me, '-became incapacitated, after Urahara had arrived.'

'You recall _absolutely nothing?_ Surely you don't expect me to _believe_—'

Soft and sweet as dark honey, Unohana intervenes. 'If I may speak, Fon-taichou underwent harsh injury.'

'Does a severed arm affect one's memory, Unohana-taichou?'

She sighs. 'I discovered a potent block in Fon-taichou's mind, a wall of nothingness that lay over part of her recent recollections. I could not tell how it came to be there, but she does not lie.'

'Continue.'

'I would not be surprised if Aizen is responsible. Kyouka Suigetsu controls the mind with perfect hypnosis'

_What. . . . _When? _**How?**_

'Even after Aizen's death?'

'I confess I'm not entirely sure, soutaichou.' Unohana muses thoughtfully, unaffected by Yamamoto. 'There does not seem to be any other possibilities other than Aizen, for who else has such abilities that tamper with the mind?'

Suddenly, a tall, lanky man with a shark-like smile and brown trench-coat slides through my mind.

'Hirako may have-' I interrupt.

I shiver unhappily as all attention shoots towards me. Did I _used _to be this self-conscious?

Not since I first joined the Onmitsukido.

What _is_ it with the Winter War?

Time somehow seems to have been reversed.

Unohana takes mercy on me, her soft ocean-blue eyes considering. 'It is doubtful, Fon-taichou. Hirako-san's Sakanade does not quite match up with the criteria that would need to be fulfilled for your suspicions to be true.' She then addresses the whole room, serenely meeting everyone's gaze for a second before once again focusing on the soutaichou. 'I must say that with Aizen's death, all of his reiatsu should have also disappeared. But all the powers of the arrancar are not yet known to us, and it is not impossible that Aizen tampered with his own spiritual makeup, although I do not believe he would have undergone the full process of hollowfication. This could have allowed him to cast a memory block on Fon-taichou here.'

The exasperated rumble of our soutaichou sounds again. 'Even if that were so, Unohana-taichou, why would Aizen have any reason to bother? He has no connection to Fon-taichou.'

I take a deep, calming breath and intercede for the second time, determined to ask before I have to go and inquire with the other survivor. 'If I may ask, is it known exactly how Aizen met his end?'

A noticeable shadow drops over the room completely, and every face is cast down.

Then the tension is broken by a late newcomer.

'Are any of you planning on telling her already, dammit?

I recognize the icebreaking tones of Zaraki's irritated growl, and have a sudden mad urge to laugh. His figure, an enormous wall of tanned muscle and overblown height, is a little hunched over, but his insanely blunt temperament doesn't appear to have changed one iota. Nor his tendency to utterly disregard all semblance of punctuality.

His crooked mouth opens in an ugly scowl. 'None of us have a clue how the bastard died. Old-man Yama was the last one to see him, and then all traces of his power just vanished a few hours later. Ichigo found the Hougyoku lying outside Las Noches, as we all thought that Aizen never would have abandoned it unless he kicked the bucket somehow.'

My jaw drops.

_I don't think that's right. . . ._

Zaraki's all-too-perceptive eyes narrow. 'You know something you haven't felt the need to tell us, don't you?

And up until that moment, I didn't.

Another human cliché seems to have struck me. Almost literally.

But it does indeed feel like a bolt from the blue as memory strikes. My knees weaken as a rush of words spill from my mouth, and I feel like I am watching from far away as identical shock bursts across every face in the room.

'_Yes,' _I hear myself say,_ 'I was the last one to see Aizen.'_

(divider)

'THEY'RE DOING _**WHAT?**__!_' I shout with unrestrained fury a few hours later, clenching my fist as I feel a burst of fiery reiatsu surge up inside me.

This should be unauthorized! I don't care _how _many taichous are bearing witness, goddammit! The few hours I've been trying to get my division back into some semblance of order, those people who _consider_ themselves my colleagues are. . .

The unfortunate seventh seat cowers before me, flinching like a frightened rabbit as the flood of my rage pours over him. 'J-j-just l-like I said, Fon-t-taichou,' He looks up through a scraggly curtain of hair. 'Unohana-taichou t-tried to convince the soutaichou that it wasn't a good idea, especially in the man's condition, but he wouldn't listen to her!'

'_Why?'_ I demand, feeling a spattering of uneasiness trickle into me. The little healer didn't have any say in this, after all. He's not responsible. Forcibly calming myself, I take a deep breath.

Yamada somehow manages to shrink even further into the shadows of the main hospital's hall, and replies in a tiny, petrified voice. 'I d-don't know, Fon-taichou! I apologise!'

A sick spasm of guilt courses through me. Attempting to even out my sharp tone, I try and reassure him. 'Don't let it trouble you, Yamada. You've done enough to help me.'

His eyes expand to the size of plates.

'T-thank-you, taichou.'

My information gained, I start running to the nearest exit, growling to myself as I pant ever more heavily, shock ringing like a huge, shattering gong inside my head.

(divider)

The interrogation room is quite large, hexagonal, with white walls. It is completely dark, save for icy blue beams concentrating upon the captive like a cruel, wintry star, designed to encourage them to talk.

I should know.

After all, I oversaw its design.

With a slower-than-normal strike to his solar plexus, I impatiently knock the last guard to the floor and throw open the huge door fully. It creaks ominously as the whole space is revealed in a stream of bright, clean light.

Oh no.

I freeze on the threshold in surprise, my heart sinking.

'_What_ is the meaning of this, Fon-taichou?' The soutaichou's voice crushes me like a rolling stone, echoing with ancient power.

Desperately goading my traitorous mind to come up with an answer, I stand up straight and observe my surroundings. The other taichous are also present, as always in twin lines, save for Kyouraku and Kuchiki Byakuya. Hitsugaya-taichou is pale and wan, his normally bright emerald eyes regarding me with something that looks like sympathy. I hiss softly as I see that repulsive snake Kurotsuchi positioned next to the control panel of the glowing latticework of silver wires winding round the one on trial.

The one on trial.

Oh, gods.

My thoughts snap back into sharp focus in a heartbeat.

Bound tightly, under the highest level restraint kido and spirit ties, Urahara slumps in the interrogation chair, his tall, lean frame unmoving, arms bound to his sides, head bowed, and mop of flaxen hair concealing his face.

I barely recognize the man.

I realise with a jolt that he probably didn't even notice me enter the room.

And there is only one possible reason for that.

He's been tortured, subjected to the harshest state of pain that the machine could inflict.

Hasn't the man been through enough already?

My fear is burned away by searing rage, and I draw righteous anger up round me like a cloak.

'Soutaichou, I believe I am owed an explanation.' I challenge, my famous paralyzing glare full force.

'_Ex_cuse me?'

'Interrogation is my department! And yet I wasn't even consulted, despite every other taichou being present! How do you expect him to tell you anything in his current state?'

'Bite your tongue, girl! Think carefully before you say anything more. Urahara has crucial information. You confirmed it yourself.'

'With all due respect, I did _no_ such. . .'

Then I freeze.

_Of course._

Painful comprehension hits.

I all but told them that Urahara was the only known witness to Aizen's death left.

So they've used any means possible to get the answers out of him.

But have they succeeded?

Before anyone can object, I make a quick dash over to Urahara across the flickering pearl and black floor, the other taichous a blur.

I need to see what kind of condition he is in before I can ascertain if he is fit for further, more _subtle _questioning.

Knowing him, I doubt he gave in.

I run my fingers through the uneven cornsilk strands of Urahara's hair to see if there is any reaction, and when not, I cup the warm heaviness of his head and tip his face up to mine.

Faded blue-grey eyes, the rare tint that speaks of overcast skies and the edge of winter, regard me emptily.

I practically have a heart attack, warring emotions suddenly shivering in my body.

He's been conscious the whole time.


End file.
